Besides giving you that warm fuzzy feeling of self-satisfaction knowing you're saving lives just by sitting on your ass with some needles sticking out of you, they also give you (as far as I can tell) an unlimited supply of cookies* at the American Red Cross.
They don’t just give you cookies at the blood bank, they give you Oreos. Those who know me well are fully aware that I freaking love junk food. And cookies - cookies are like legal crack to me. I once ate so many ginger snaps I threw up, and those are only like a 6 on the cookie scale.
But the Oreo, what can I say about the Oreo? I have a fairly well developed theory, the thesis of which asserts that there are three foods on this earth which were created through a most unholy, yet perfect, union between God (or the Devil) and the Scientists. In an all too rare alliance, God (or the Devil) and the Scientists teamed up to bring mankind the most delicious unifications of science and nature. The trifecta to emerge from this rare coalition is as follows: Doritos, Velveeta Shells and Cheese, and finally, the crowning jewel, the masterpiece of masterpieces, the Oreo – the most magnificent matrimony of deity and learning. †
So as I lay there, hooked up to the machine, watching Parking Wars with my extremely friendly man-nurse, I am wracked with two questions:
(1) Are the cookies “open to the public,” since anyone can give blood, or am I actually entering into a bartered for exchange situation, in which they agree to give me Oreos in return for my bodily fluids?
(2) Do I care?
Since my man-nurse is new, I am blessed with a few extra needle sticks and an additional half hour or so to contemplate my dilemma. As it winds up, I am released from my chair only minutes before I am expected at work, eliminating the need to reach such important conclusions at this time.
I take the need for an expeditious departure as sign that Oreos and I are not meant to be today. In order to avoid the temptation, and a lecture about how I should rest in the recovery/cookie area before leaving, I sneak out sheepishly. But before I do so, I grab a bag of Teddy Grahams to give to Adam later. After all, I’ve earned it, and they’re so cute.
For lunch I have, you guessed it, a falafel taco. And 60 marshmallows. I figure I’ve gotta get my blood sugar up.
Another falafel taco for dinner, but I decide around 8 that I should cook something else for tomorrow. I’m come to rely so much on falafel, I’m neglecting the rest of my food. I don’t want to be stuck eating plain rice for the last 12 days. That would suck even more than eating falafel taco every day.
Tonight, as I prepare food for tomorrow, I learn that whole dried peas take a hell of a lot longer to cook than split peas. Also, whole peas are not delicious when you have nothing besides spinach and salt & pepper to flavor them. Yuck.
60 more marshmallows for dessert (blood sugar, you know.) And a frozen blackberry.
*Note: this may not be true in all states. In Michigan, I actually got a tuna salad sandwich, which although delicious, was not a valid substitute for cookies)
†An honorable mention goes out to the Cheeto